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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811646">Facing Your Fears</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Matt/pseuds/Just_Matt'>Just_Matt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Project Wingman (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"AU" - Crimson 1 Gets A Therapist, F!Monarch ("Momarch"), F/M, I Can't Believe it's Not Porn, We're All Sons of Bitches Now, You Solely are Responsible for This</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:48:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Matt/pseuds/Just_Matt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You know why you're here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hitman 1 | Monarch/Crimson 1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Ceg for the horrible idea.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The Parties, participating in a neutral conference held in the land of the Republic of Albion, hosted by the United Kerneuropa Alliance, with a view to ending the war and restoring the peace in relation to Cascadia on the basis of respect to the self-actualization of the Cascadian people, have agreed on the following provisions and undertake to respect and to implement them following a-”</p><p>A cease fire. </p><p>The war was over.</p><p>The Federation had lost. </p><p>It had been two weeks since that day - and now, lying motionless on the bed of his hotel room, a premium suite reserved for him by Crystal Kingdom, Crimson One felt...nothing. No less than a month ago, back when he was still tied to that hospital bed at the Fort Norris airbase, the peacekeeper was sure he would have stormed out of his room and hopped on the first battle-ready fighter he could find, just so he could fly to Presidia himself and have a last word in a conflict that, for the longest time, had felt personal.</p><p>“Why do you feel like that, captain? Do you think you could explain it?”</p><p>The words of that psychiatrist they assigned him, Dr. Osei, played back in his mind as inquisitive as they had been the first time - when he tried to explain it in as many ways as he could: first as a conflict of ideals with his countrymen, then as a slight towards his authority, towards his figure as a “poster child” of the Federation’s military power, then as fear for the future of his “home”. Then...as the doctor looked down from his notepad, through his glasses and right into his head, he also dared to add…</p><p>“...that pilot.”</p><p>The Crown - or “Monarch”, as their allies liked to call him, who for the better part of a year had become synonymous with everything Crimson One hated about this world: grifters, criminals, opportunists, war profiteers, scum of the earth who sowed discord between otherwise peaceful and unified people to line their pockets. The Crown incarnated it all, and he mocked him from the height of his throne of skulls and gold. Mocked his inability to rise to the occasion and restore the world’s rightful order. His inability to be the hero his people hailed him as.</p><p>“Why do you feel like it’s mocking you, exactly?”</p><p>Crimson One shed a tear when he had asked that, then he started detailing that feeling: the feeling of trying to put out the flames of hell with a water hose. The feeling that had been slowly creeping inside his mind ever since their first engagement - when the Crown had somehow managed to shoot down one of his squadmates, Lydia Koponen, with cannon fire from a ground attack plane. Lydia had managed to punch out in time thankfully, but then...then the Bering Strait happened, and he had shown up in an SK.37 - the same fighter Koponen flew. The same fighter half of Crimson Team flew. The odds were now even, and Lydia...she went down first: her chute had landed in the sea, Search &amp; Rescue couldn’t make it in time to extract her and she froze to death. </p><p>In just two engagements, the Crown had taken from him everyone he’d ever truly trusted in his life. When the Fort Norris rescue crew had recovered him from a possible death at sea, floating aimlessly off the coast of Prospero, he wanted to beat that asshole to death. He wanted to snuff the life out of his body with his bare hands, feel his pulse flatline under his fingers. He was rage, and wanted nothing but to quell that thirst for blood. </p><p>Yet, later that morning, he was supposed to meet him in person and possibly shake his hand - all part of that “peace and reunion” ceremony he was supposed to take part of as the representative for the Federation’s Peacekeeper Force. </p><p>He wasn’t entirely sure how Crystal Kingdom expected him to do that. </p><p>Sure, therapy had helped him a lot since then but...that was still the man who murdered his whole squadron. It’s not like he wasn’t used to putting an act in front of politicians he couldn’t stand whenever he was invited at these kinds of social gatherings, but this…</p><p>Wait.</p><p>For all he knew about the Crown as a pilot, the peacekeeper realized there was one particular detail about him that had always escaped his grasp. A detail that, all and all, didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things - he still hated him, even if not with that same murderous fervor as before. </p><p>Yet, as he got up from his king-size bed and donned the parade uniform Crystal Kingdom had also sent him, this stupid little detail kept creeping in and out of his mind, poking at his focus with irritating intensity.</p><p>Was the Crown even a man?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Intermission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jeez, Monarch, you’re still in bed? I mean I get that, you are a war hero now, but like...maybe staying up so late last night wasn’t the brightest idea, huh?”</p><p>As she gently laid the sets of formalwear Kaiser had ordered for them on one of the hotel room’s velvety armchairs, Hitman Team WSO Robin Kuo shook her head in amusement. For all she knew of Monarch as a pilot, she still found bits and pieces of their behavior to be...erratic, somehow. Most of the time they seemed to be a rather sensible person, with no particular afflictions nor addictions, but...whenever an idea just got jammed in their head, then there was no way in hell to get it out of there. Like last night, when they had decided that, in order to celebrate the tenth-or-so anniversary of Hitman Team’s employment in Sicario, they’d have a threeway drinking game with Dip and Comic - something to do with downing a shot of pricy hotel wine whenever a missile was fired in this old show. A cartoon of sorts, something about crazy sci-fi planes fighting giant aliens, she reckoned. She had fallen asleep rather early compared to the three of them, so she couldn’t be too sure. </p><p>What she was sure of, though, was that they were probably going to miss the start of the ceremony if that doofus didn't get up immediately - and what kind of hero showed up late to the most important event in the war, right?</p><p>Glancing at the slowly-rousing pilot from behind her bare shoulder, Prez couldn’t help but giggle. </p><p>“Hey, no peeking, alright? I’m not done dressing up here!”</p><p>What a fool, Monarch was. </p><p>She was glad she got to know them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh my, that’s Crimson One isn’t it?”</p><p>“Indeed he is, dear - looks like he’s recovered well, too!”</p><p> Holy shit galas were boring. </p><p>“Mr. and Mrs. Ravensworth, I’m glad you could join us from…”</p><p>Wait...what were they doing out of country again?</p><p>Yeah, It had been a while since Crimson One had been invited to one - morale tours and policing deployments in the Periphery had saved him the trouble for most of last year, and then came the war. He’d never been a fan of formal gatherings before either, but after learning how to put the right act on he just went through them on autopilot, pulling smiles and fake laughs to entertain the pencil pushers that liked parading him around like prize cattle so much. </p><p>“We were in Bharat, yes. Neutral third party in the treaties with the Kingdom of Multan.”</p><p>“An attempt to...rebuild bridges after that border conflict. The treaties were going surprisingly smoothly though, so we deemed it safe to come over and celebrate the end of this one, too.” </p><p>Yeah, Bharat. Right.</p><p>So, after two years of non-stop active duty, the peacekeeper was having a harder time than he'd imagined slipping back under that mask. Normally he’d be able to bullshit his way out of a situation like that - in the admittedly rare case he actually happened to forget what this ambassador or that dignitary had been doing while he was out there putting his life on the line. This time though...he couldn't quite focus on that, so he thought to try and play it straight - a big no-no in ballroom politics.</p><p>“I see. My apologies, then. I’ll admit, I haven’t been able to keep up with the Core’s happenings lately. Readjusting after that accident has been difficult, I hope you can understand.”</p><p>And smile, subtly-ashamed nod of the head, slight bow.</p><p>Judging from the reaction he'd gotten from the dignitary couple - who had begun showering him in the usual litany of praises over his military honor, he seemed to have pulled the right strings. </p><p>Just like riding a bike.</p><p>As the litany ended, to which he replied with the usual set of “thank you”s and good luck wishes, the two seemed to have grown bored with him, leaving him to his half-empty glass of white wine to join another small group of dignitaries, all bunched up around the seafood buffet - some of them Cascadians, judging from the colors they wore.</p><p>Back to work already, huh?</p><p>Not that it bothered him, as now he could take the time to focus on something he actually cared about.</p><p>The Crown. </p><p>That woman.</p><p>And for some reason, why it had shocked him so much to learn that the person that had haunted his nightmares for the better part of a year was, indeed, a woman. A woman who was so good at her job that she could wear a pilot helmet in the middle of a state ceremony and have nobody even acknowledge how extravagant that choice was. Especially matched with that dress...</p><p>By the Dust. Was he really that touch-starved? </p><p>So, there she was: bright red dress and pilot helmet, next to that obnoxiously large fondue fountain, drinking with what he guessed were her WSO, two wingmen and some Cascadian National Guard people. Well, they were drinking, she just...occasionally poured the contents of her glass onto her helmet. Or stuck the oxygen tube into the glass and pretended it was a straw. </p><p>Was that seriously the King of Hell - no, right, Queen of hell - that had won Cascadia the war?</p><p>Taking a sip of wine himself, he watched as Monarch took a shrimp tart and simply slammed it on her visor, much to the amusement of everyone around her. She was trying to play it completely straight too, but Crimson One noticed she was having trouble with that from how her legs seemed to give in a little every now and then - telltale sign somebody was doing their best to suppress an indecently loud fit of laughter. </p><p>Then, after pouring himself and a passing guest another glass of white, the peacekeeper noticed somebody had now set their sights on him - and her gaze was one of challenge. Another woman, her skin darker and her hair jet black, shorter than Monarch’s long, brunish braid. </p><p>That must have been Hitman 3, “Comic” or something along those lines - and from across that dining room her eyes were carving a message into his mind.</p><p>Stop staring and come get some, coward.</p><p>Trying his best to maintain a sense of subtlety, Crimson tried to reply in tone.</p><p>You won’t have to wait long, merc.</p><p>In all honesty, the peacekeeper wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted to talk to them, or why he had been more or less stalking the trio for the entire after-ceremony. He just...wanted to hear something from them before they all went their separate ways, he felt. Or at least, before they’d meet on a different battlefield. </p><p>He wanted to talk to her.</p><p>...because he needed to face his fear. That’s what his Dr. Osei had concluded before letting him go. He needed to close this chapter of his life before he could even think about flying again.</p><p>So he was going to do that. Right. Now.</p><p>...after another glass, maybe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Why did he do that?</p><p>Sitting at the edge of his suite’s bed, Crimson One had been staring at nothing for what he felt was a good thirty minutes now.</p><p>Maybe he shouldn’t have drank so much.</p><p>Maybe he should have waited.</p><p>Maybe he should have just let it rock, played his role and let the mercenaries play theirs.</p><p>But he didn’t, instead he tried to bite more than he could chew again - he tried to act like he had everything together, like he was in control. Something he hadn’t been for a while now.</p><p>“So...Hitman Team, in the flesh. I take it you’ve been enjoying the refreshments?”</p><p>God, why did he try to talk like that with them.</p><p>“Cut it, Crimson One. What do you want?”</p><p>Comic again, to the point as she always seemed to be.</p><p>He wished he could have answered that in earnest.</p><p>“Nothing in particular, just...we’ve been through a lot, the five of us, haven’t we? I figured it was only fair that we met in person at least once.”</p><p>“Ain’t that thoughtful. What, you afraid you’re gonna miss us?”</p><p>At least the other guy, Diplomat, seemed to be a bit more welcoming.</p><p>“Yes and no. Actually, I was hoping I’d get to have a word with the Queen of Hell herself more than anything. You can recommence with the festivities, it won’t take long.”</p><p>Why did he make it sound so fucking weird.</p><p>“Oh, so you hunt us like dogs for half the war, call us all sorts of names every time you show up, almost frickin’ kill me over that damned Cordium refinery and you think you can just casually stroll up to Monarch and take her to a broom closet or something? Do I need to slap a bitc-ahem a fool, today?!”</p><p>The short one, that was Prez - she seemed particularly protective. He couldn’t blame her reaction though, he...did do all those things. Yet, he should have at least tried to keep it together. Tried to act a bit more...reasonably. Instead, he...</p><p>“Listen here, WSO - I don’t know what you think you’re insinuating, but if you think I’m here because I want to then you’re sorely mistaken. I have...business with Monarch. You know, business related to my former squadron, and how she killed them all. Trauma, ever heard of it? I doubt it, all cocooned in your backseat without a care in the world. I wanna talk to her, so I can just leave you to your business and get back to mine.”</p><p>The gut punch he got from that, purposefully aimed so the impact looked like he was convulsing from an indigestion (avoiding a potential international incident, he noted) had been Prez’s way of telling him "stay the fuck away from us for the rest of your life". Advice which he’d decided to take to heart, storming back to his room under the excuse of one too many caviar tarts.</p><p>So...that had been a failure, just like anything else involving Sicario and its Queen. From there, he figured it was back to the drawing board with Dr. Osei - and an even longer time before he could fly again. Given how early it was, still around 1730 hour- no, half past five in the afternoon, he figured he could change into something more casual, get out of that hotel and just...take a stroll, maybe? It’s not like he had much to do outside of his duties anyway-</p><p>Hold on.</p><p>Did somebody knock at his door just then?</p><p>“Yes? Anyone there?”</p><p>No response.</p><p>“Is this room service? Because there’s really no need for that, I’m feeling much better now.”</p><p>No response.</p><p>The peacekeeper reached for the safe in the room’s closet and cautiously pulled his sidearm from it.</p><p>Weapon’s hot. Now he waited.</p><p>“...hello?”</p><p>That was a voice he didn’t recognize, which somehow felt doubly muffled - from the wall, and then something else.</p><p>“Is...is this the peacekeeper’s room?”</p><p>Who the hell was that.</p><p>“Is anyone there? I...I just want to talk.”</p><p>Fine, let’s talk then.</p><p>Walking to the door as silently as he could, he leaned his back to the wall beside it, raised his semi-auto, barrel pointed at the ceiling, and slowly turned the handle, letting this unknown guest walk in by...</p><p>Herself.</p><p>Oh shit.</p><p>“Is anyone there? Crimson…?”</p><p>Oh fuck.</p><p>“Wait, where are you-”</p><p>She turned.</p><p>He screamed.</p><p>She screamed.</p><p>She reached for him and he was on the floor, flat on his back, watching as she effortlessly dismantled his pistol.</p><p>That was her. That was the Queen - and she had bested him once again.</p><p>“...I’m sorry.”</p><p>That was all he’d managed to say, before the same arm that had judo-flipped him to the ground was now raising him to his feet. No reply, she preferred to let her actions speak for her.</p><p>That was Monarch alright.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So, the Federation’s Finest was practically glued to the Queen of Hell’s lips. </p><p>How the fuck did that even happen.</p><p>It had all started quite innocently: after putting his pistol back together and laying it on his bedside table with the utmost care, she simply plopped next to him on the bed, slowly took her helmet off and-</p><p>Why was his face feeling so red.</p><p>Blue eyes. Deep, dark blue. Eyes that he would not believe for a second were the same that acquired and shot down target after target with the mechanical precision she was infamous for. No, those were not the eyes of a killer. Not the eyes of a demon. If he wanted to get really corny, he could have said they were the eyes of an angel - but even he wasn’t that much of a dork.</p><p>Still, that didn’t change the fact that she was. </p><p>A killer, of course.</p><p>“Earlier you said you had something to tell me, so...I’m here. I can listen, if you want.”</p><p>And that had just opened the floodgates. </p><p>He told the woman he had hated the most on in his whole life about everything that she made him feel during that war - all the frustration, all the inadequacy, all the grief. He told her of how much he had desired to strangle her in cold blood and watch the light fade from her eyes. He told her of how losing more and more of his comrades to her kept him awake at night for months - with a loaded gun under his pillow. At some point he'd even started crying: odd tears that had gradually turned into a flood of their own as he sobbed and sighed long-suppressed feelings away. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” was all she managed to say, this time.</p><p>Then she put a hand on his thigh.</p><p>“This job...it's hard on everyone. People think us pilots live the high life - diving into danger head first and coming out with a chest full of gold, or prestige and glory in your case. They idolize us, they make us think we couldn’t have it better if we tried...truth is, we do the work nobody else wants to do. We risk our lives in the great game because that’s all some of us can do - and those of us who aren’t naturals, those that just fall into this trap and get used to it...they can never return, either. I’m sorry I made you feel like this. I’m sorry I...ruined you, like this. I’ve lost people too, so I can’t blame you for...wanting to do what you wanted to do to me - mostly because at some point I wanted to do the same to others for taking those people from me. In some cases I even did. I’m not proud of it, but...that’s just who we are, isn’t it? I hope telling me all this has made you feel better. It’s the least I can do for you.”</p><p>Crimson One was feeling lightheaded.</p><p>Her voice was just...heaven. Deep and kind of breathy in a way that just soothed his soul - and that only added to a speech that, even without a voice as beautiful as her’s, would have knocked him out cold from just how heartfelt it was. He didn’t know what to say, so he just...didn’t. He kept silent and stared at the Queen of Hell in utter awe. He knew this was wrong, he knew nothing could make up for what she had done, neither to him nor to anyone else - but for now he really didn’t care, because for possibly the second time in his life Crimson One felt like somebody actually cared for him - and he did not want to spoil that moment.</p><p>Slowly and carefully, almost as if she was trying to pet a wild animal, Monarch reached for his face.</p><p>Was she...trying to wipe the tears off of it?</p><p>Unfortunately, that had the opposite effect,  causing him to tear up even harder. Enough to make hers start watering, too, giving off a pearly shine under the lights of the peacekeeper's suite.</p><p>What a mess this was. What a total, complete mess. </p><p>“...Monarch?” </p><p>Finally, he'd found the courage to speak up.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>Her voice was trembling too now.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>What the peacekeeper expected now was a simple “you’re welcome” or just...silence, the Monarch way. Not for her to grab him and pull him down to her - not as hungrily as she did, at least. </p><p>Yet, there they were, melting into each other's mouths after spending a year trying to tear each other apart. Nothing about this war made a lick of sense anymore, and frankly? Crimson One couldn’t care less. All he really wanted to know was why, all of a sudden, he'd stopped feeling Monarch’s lips on his.</p><p>“Crimson…”</p><p>God, that voice.</p><p>“...yes?”</p><p>For a moment that felt longer than the peacekeeper had quickly become comfortable with, Monarch just...kept her distance, looking away from him as if she was looking for something. </p><p>"...is everything alright?" he dared to ask, mostly hoping that'd help her find whatever she was looking for, either figuratively or literally, and get back to ravishing his lips.</p><p>She chuckled - and that kind of chuckle, Crimson noted, was almost universally let out by somebody who was about to do or say something incredibly stupid. </p><p>For a moment, a sense of fear he thought he'd long forgotten crawled back into his heart - so, of course, his muscles stiffened up. That's what intense fear usually did to them. Unfortunately, he failed to consider that…</p><p>She'd feel that too.</p><p>“Aw...are you scared?” </p><p>Oh.</p><p>"Don't worry…"</p><p>Oh no.</p><p>"I'll…" </p><p>She chuckled again. Fuck.</p><p>"...take care of you."</p><p>That was definitely wrong. That was definitely not okay. They had their moment, he'd done the thing the doctor ordered, all he needed to do now was punch out. </p><p>Wait, was that one of her-</p><p>Punch out.</p><p>Crap, did her hand just-</p><p>Punch. Out.</p><p>“...is this too much?”</p><p>Punch. Out.</p><p>“...It's fine."</p><p>No it wasn't. He needed to...</p><p>"Thank you." </p><p>Punch...</p><p>"...you're welcome. I'm glad I could help you, Crimson One."</p><p>...out.</p><p>The next morning was going to be an awkward one, wasn't it?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Second Intermission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Hitman Team reached Room 444, an Emperor-class suite that probably costs as much as a Sidewinder to sleep in for a night, the list of stuff they were expecting to find once they had breached the door counted many things, including but not limited to:</p><p>- Crimson One with an arm or two broken;</p><p>- Crimson and Monarch still having an argument over the ethics of Cordium-based weaponry after 12 straight hours of debating;</p><p>- Crimson and Monarch in the middle of a 4D Chess match after 12 straight hours of playtime;</p><p>...and, possibly, a locked door - because, in their rush to get their team leader out of there, they could have gotten the wrong key at the reception. The list went on of course, but nothing could prepare them for what they'd actually find.</p><p>“What the SHIT?!” Comic was the first to speak, shouting out with no regard for the pilot sleeping in Monarch's arms, all curled up against her under the bedsheets.</p><p>“...seriously, Monarch? Him of all people?” Dip came right after, his tone somewhere between confused and disgusted.</p><p>“Jeez, Monarch - next time you plan to bed someone I hate, warn me first, alright? I’ll avoid punchin’em out. You’re lucky I didn’t aim any lower, you doofus.” Prez chimed in for last, trying to stifle a laugh.</p><p>“Guys…” Monarch finally spoke up, trying to keep as quiet as she could: “...your team leader is having a moment here. Can you...leave us alone, for a while? I’ll tell you all about it once I see him off.”</p><p>“I’m not actually that interested, but...sure.” Dip spoke first this time. He didn't seem to want to have anything to do with this, and Monarch couldn't really blame him.</p><p>“I’m down, just...maybe keep the details out? I don’t really care to know what kinda shit this guy screams when he cums.” Comic chimed in now, whispering in tune with her leader this time.</p><p>“Fuckin’ totally, sis. This is gonna be great.” Prez concluded, all giddy from the prospect of learning what kind of dork this guy probably was under the mask - and under the sheets.</p><p>“Thank you. I’ll see you in a bit, ok?”</p><p>“Copy that.” they replied, almost in unison.</p><p>What fools her wingmen were.</p><p>She was glad she knew them.</p><p>And, surprisingly enough, she was glad she’d gotten to know that peacekeeper too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I added this one after posting it on the Project Wingman discord server, so it's technically New Content (TM).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As thoughts and feelings he would have used to describe as indecent, if not downright sacrilegious, were still swirling through his subconscious like a tropical storm, Crimson One awakened to the blaring blowing of a hair dryer. Which meant…</p><p>“Good morning, sweetie.”</p><p>Yup, that had indeed happened the night before.</p><p>Wrapped in a towel just slightly shorter than it needed to be to fully cover her butt, the woman he’d come to know as “Monarch” was standing in the middle of the bathroom’s doorway, door swung completely open. She’d probably just stepped out of the shower, and was now drying a mane that certainly didn’t look as sizable as it appeared to be, now that it wasn't tied in a braid.</p><p>Lazily running a hand across his eyes, the peacekeeper didn’t really feel like talking: there was a lot on his mind at that moment, and over half of it had to do with the woman who was casually standing in his room’s bathroom, wearing a white towel and nothing else. Still, she’d greeted him, so he had to at least reciprocate that.</p><p>“...morning, darli-”</p><p>No, the night was over. He needed to get a grip and speak properly now.</p><p>With all the strength of somebody who’d been awake for less than ten minutes, the peacekeeper coughed over that first, meek greeting and tried again.</p><p>“Good morning, Monarch.”</p><p>Switching the hairdryer off, the mercenary turned to him, giving him that same tender smile that had completely unmade him the night before.</p><p>And it still worked.</p><p>“Ow, back to tacnames so soon?”</p><p>There was a hint of disappointment in her question, which did poke at Crimson’s heart just a little, but then she just shrugged, left the hair dryer on the side of the sink and waltzed back to bed - not without a slight sway of her hips, which the peacekeeper found devilish. Who even thought of that again, so early in the morning?</p><p>Wait, right - what time was it anyway?</p><p>Before he could glance at any clock, Crimson felt the bed shake a little: Monarch was sitting on its side again, just like she’d done when that mess had started. She lightly patted the mattress to her side, beckoning the peacekeeper to sit next to her. Which he did, once he had retrieved his underwear.</p><p>“Ah, there we are. Slept well, sweetie?”</p><p>“...yeah. Did you?”</p><p>His gaze was fixed on the pavement, trying his best to not just stare at her in the wrong place during what was probably going to be a rather awkward conversation. What he couldn’t see however, was that hers was too.</p><p>“I’m glad. So...Hitman team already swung by. They know I’m fine and all, so you’re safe.”</p><p>Her wingmen did what.</p><p>“And no, they didn’t...uh...see you naked. Although I’ll say, you looked really cute just...holding onto me like that. But that’s besides the point.”</p><p>“What’s “the point” then?” he spoke up, sudden and slightly brash. He couldn’t deny that anger wasn’t part of the cocktail of emotions stirring in his chest, but still, he hoped he wouldn’t sound...ungrateful, if anything.</p><p>“Well…” Feeling a hand gently rest on his, Crimson One turned to face his nemesis - or at this point, former nemesis. He wasn’t exactly sure.</p><p>Deep, dark blue. Staring into his eyes with a different kind of intensity than just lust.</p><p>“...the point is that I really liked what we did last night, and...I’m not sure I want us to go our separate ways yet. I’m not asking that we become a “thing”, of course: I’ve done a lot to earn your hatred, and I doubt a one-night-stand did much to change that. Still, I enjoyed your company, in and outside of the sheets, and I was wondering if you’d like to spend more time together.”</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>That was a question Crimson One was not prepared to respond to - because on one hand sure, why not? It’s not like he was going to be back in service any time soon. He’d been planning on taking time off for days now, and conveniently enough he had no idea what to do with it. On the other hand, however…</p><p>That was the Queen of Hell.</p><p>That night they had just spent together...he’d treasure it, sure. It had been a great way to confront the person who had scared him the most in his whole life, and he’d gotten some precious intimacy out of it - something he hadn’t felt in a long time. But yet...leaving the hotel together, just like that? Just like they hadn’t been at each other’s throats for so long? The Peacekeeper just...couldn’t picture it. Not right then, at least. He needed to think about it. He needed to stall her for just a little more.</p><p>“I see.” he spoke, curt and flat, his tongue dry from early morning thirst and something else: “I’m sorry, but...I’m not really sure what to say. I’m grateful for what you’ve done last night, I really am, but...do you think you could tell me more about what you had in mind? Sorry, just…”</p><p>Monarch lowered her gaze again, sliding a little to the side as to leave the peacekeeper more room.</p><p>“Don’t worry.” her voice’s pitch was lower too, all pretense of affection or playfulness gone - she was serious now. It wasn’t hard for Crimson One to imagine that same tone announcing one “Fox Two” after the other in the middle of a furball.</p><p>“I get you. I...may have gone too far, last night. I just...wanted to help you. Wanted to make up for all I’ve done to you. I didn’t really plan to...get on with it when I came to your room, but...after hearing you out, I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d feel, resting in the arms of the woman who brought you so much grief.”</p><p>And there she was again, carpet bombing his heart like she had done the night before.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking about doing this, talking to you I mean, ever since Prospero. The thing you said, about this...about me...being your “obsession” - it hit me. I don’t know why, but it hit me. I’m sorry. About this and about...uh...Prez, too. I tried to stop her, but that girl does get awfully protective sometimes.”</p><p>Was this woman just...insane?</p><p>Crimson’s mind flashed back to their prior engagements - to her choice of aircraft, to the maneuvers she’d pull, to how she was more than willing to have a missile graze her cockpit if it meant aligning for a gun kill. That’s how she had got him every time, after all.</p><p>So yes, yes she was.</p><p>Now more than ever, the peacekeeper realized Monarch was a woman of sheer will before anything else: if she had an idea, no matter how stupid it was, she was going to see it through - and given her monstruous skills, she was likely going to succeed at it too.</p><p>He went over the facts again, from the top, and gave the mercenary’s proposal about...twenty minutes of thought. Twenty minutes during which Monarch had moved to the opposite side of the bed, head in her hands, staring into her own little spot of oblivion as well.</p><p>“Monarch…?”</p><p>As the mercenary turned to him, she could notice the hint of a smile on the peacekeeper's face - and that, thankfully, brought some color back on cheeks that had gone pale twenty minutes prior.</p><p>“I don’t think I’d mind joining you. Thank you for asking...darling.”</p><p>And then she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.</p><p>For a moment, the Peacekeeper tried to trail those slender hands of hers, just so he could swat them away from anywhere inappropriate, but no - they just landed on his chest, pressing him tight against her. That was a hug, a hug the kind he hadn’t received in a while.</p><p>“Thank you for accepting, sweetie~!"</p><p>Gently, she turned his face to the side, beckoning him to meet those blue and now slightly watery eyes with his own.</p><p>“So, are we leaving right away? As far as I know Dip, Comic and Prez went straight for the airport - we’ve got our birds stashed there, from when we did the pre-ceremony airshow. I came here in a Tommycat, so you could get in the backseat for a change. Unless...”</p><p>Before the peacekeeper had a chance to reply, the mercenary spoke up again, excitement dripping from her every word like a little girl at a theme park. God, how could that woman be so many things at once? Terrifying, seductive, motherly and now adorable? Life was unfair sometimes.</p><p>“...how about we have a race! I could probably get the CNG to hand you one of their birds, stripped of all weapons of course, and we could have a nice little race to the Caribbean! As far as I know, the rest of Hitman's headed there: Dip rented out a place for the rest of the summer, nice and out of sight. That could be cool, right?”</p><p>She had a point, but the peacekeeper didn’t exactly want to be flying side-by-side with her for the time being. Plus, he’d always wondered how it’d feel to be the WSO to a pilot as unhinged as she was. That little girl that knocked him out the other day must have had bigger attributes than most of the Federation’s air force.</p><p>“I think I’d prefer the backseat for now, thank you. Just...be gentle, alright?”</p><p>For once, it was Monarch who got to blush, looking away as she ruffled his hair slightly.</p><p>“Cheeky boy. Who taught you to speak like that?”</p><p>“Well, there’s this lady I’ve been seeing for about a year. We started on the wrong foot, but things are getting better, I think. Does that sound like anyone you know?”</p><p>“It does indeed. I’d hazard to say she’s probably a rather charming lady, and that you two will probably get along better and better in the long run.”</p><p>In all honesty, Crimson One wasn’t sure of that. It would take a fair bit of work on both ends to get...whatever there was between them to actually work. But once again, he didn’t care: the war was over, he'd failed his mission and he wouldn’t see the air for months - so, as childish as he admitted it was, all he wanted now was to play out this little fantasy: to snuggle in the embrace of the Queen of Hell and, for once, feel like his life mattered to someone - as a human being, not a “strategic asset”.</p><p>“...Thank you again, Monarch.”</p><p>She finally let go of him, resting a hand on his cheek.</p><p>“You’re welcome, Crimson.”</p><p>For the fourth time, their eyes met - and as they did, the pair just sat there, basking in each other’s presence. Wondering if this was indeed a good idea and immediately throwing the thought out of their mind, reserving it for a later date. It wasn’t the wisest thing to do, but for the moment it just felt right.</p><p>Unfortunately for both of them, this little moment of tenderness was broken by a low, sudden grumble, coming from a certain Peacekeeper’s stomach.</p><p>“O-oh, right…” Crimson One’s eyes darted around the room, looking for a clock: “w-what time is it, again?”</p><p>Monarch stifled a chuckle, her gaze still fixed on him.</p><p>“Oh, it’s like...noon. You’re a heavy sleeper, sweetie.”</p><p>Indeed he was.</p><p>“Shall I treat you to lunch then, darling?”</p><p>“Oh, no need. You’ve...uh…”</p><p>Her tone had gotten sheepish now. That was new.</p><p>“You’ve already paid for the stay’s extension anyway. I mean, I did, because you were asleep and we were about to get thrown out of the room, so…don’t worry though, Sicario’s already wired my payment through, so I can pay for lunch! I can do that for the whole trip, actually.”</p><p>The peacekeeper sighed, reaching for those lips that made his walls crumble the night before.</p><p>A mercenary to the end.</p>
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